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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

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■WREATHED WITH HOLLY [Page 125 



ON THE ROAD HOME 

Ipoems 



MARGARET E. SANGSTER 



'' East or West hame is best ' 



ILLUSTRATED 




NEW YORK 
HARPER AND BROTHERS 

MDCCCXCIII 



OT ^^^Q}. 



%p S6 1893J 



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OF 












n? 



Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 

All rights reserved. 



^<^^.^UG% 



TO 

MY FRIEND 

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD 



The poems in this volume originally ap- 
peared in HARPER'S BAZAR and WEEK- 
LY, The Congregationalist, The Christian Intel- 
ligencer, Ladies^ Home Journal, Home - Maker, 
and Sunday -School Times. 



CONTENTS 



I — FOR SIX DAYS OUT OF SEVEN 

Page 

THE SIN OF OMISSION I 

HIS FIRST LOVE 3 

INTANGIBLE 5 

THE PASSING YEAR 8 

THE DEAR LITTLE WIFE AT HOME . . 12 

IF MOTHER WOULD LISTEN I4 

PATIENT WITH THE LIVING 1 6 

IN THE NIGHT SEASON 18 

THE GAIN OF LOSS 21 

THE WIND ACROSS THE WHEAT ... 23 

THE HELP THAT COMES TOO LATE . . 26 

WAITING FOR THE ANGELS 28 

WHITTIER 30 

TENNYSON .32 

A BALLAD OF MAY 33 

THEN AND NOW 37 

THE EVENING LESSON 4 1 



Page 

BELLS IN THE DESERT 44 

A LESSON 47 

CHRYSANTHEMUMS 49 

IN THE BELFRY 51 

IN HAMPTON ROADS 53 

FLOWERS FOR MEMORIAL DAY .... 54 

CROSSING THE DOWN-TOWN FERRIES . 57 

II — LOOKING UPWARD 

TWO OR THREE 61 

TE DEUM LAUDAMUS 63 

HOW LONG? 65 

god's APPOINTMENTS 67 

A king's MESSENGER 69 

THE CITY OF GOD 74 

A SONG OF SUMMER 76 

A DAY OF THE LORD 78 

THE INVISIBLE GUEST 80 

THEY NEITHER TOIL NOR SPIN .... 83 

THE CORE OF THE HOUSE 85 

THE CHILD AT THE GATE 89 

OUR BROKEN DAYS 9I 

THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS 94 

MY ALABASTER BOX 97 

ONLY IN THEE lOO 

GOING HOME I02 



Ill — THANKSGIVING 

Page 

IN THE OLD HOME 107 

THANKSGIVING ALWAYS IIO 

mother's THANKSGIVING II 3 

COMMON MERCIES Il6 

IV — CHRISTMAS SONGS 

HER GIFTS 121 

EMBERS 123 

WREATHED WITH HOLLY 125 

THE ANNUNCIATION 127 

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM 1 29 

WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES 1 32 

CHRISTMAS EVE , . . I34 

GOD BLESS US ALL ........ I37 

V— EASTER 

AN EASTER SONG I4I 

MARY 143 



I 
FOR SIX DAYS OUT OF SEVEN 



THE SIN OF OMISSION 

It isn't the thing you do, Dear, 

It's the thing you leave undone 
That gives you a bit of a heartache 

At the setting of the sun. 
The tender word forgotten 5 

The letter you did not write ; 
The flower you did not send. Dear, 

Are your haunting ghosts at night. 

The stone you might have lifted 

Out of a brother's way ^ 
The bit of heartsome counsel 

You were hurried too much to say; 
The loving touch of the hand. Dear, 

The gentle, winning tone 
Which you had no time nor thought for 

With troubles enough of your own. 

Those little acts of kindness 

So easily out of mind, 
Those chances to be angels 

Which we poor mortals find, 

A I 



They come in night and silence, 
Each sad, reproachful wraith, 

When hope is faint and flagging 
And a chill has fallen on faith. 

For life is all too short. Dear, 

And sorrow is all too great 
To suff'er our slow compassion 

That tarries until too late ,• 
And it isn't the thing you do, Dear, 

It's the thing you leave undone 
Which gives you a bit of a heartache 

At the setting of the sun. 



HIS FIRST LOVE 

His first love ? Yes, I knew her very well — 
Yes, she was young and beautiful, like you j 

With cheeks rose-flushed, and lovely eyes that 
fell 
If people praised her overmuch, but true 

And fearless, flashing out as blue eyes can 

At any cruelty to beast or man. 

Her voice ? ""Twas very gentle, sweet and low, 
With tones to hush a tired child to sleep ; 

In every cadence clear, its silvery flow 
Beside a sick-bed had a charm so deep 

Its spell could banish creeping waves of pain. 

Bring easeful quiet to the fevered brain. 

Her hands? Well, dear, they were not quite 
so small 
As those that trifle with your dainty laces ; 
A little browned, perhaps, they had such call 

To carry sunshine into shady pJaces ; 
Less delicate than yours, and yet I doubt 
If one who loved her ever found it out. 
3 



Her feet ? Sure never steps so swift and steady 
Went straight as arrow flying to a goal j 

If duty summoned her, the ever ready 
To minister to any ailing soul. 

Dear feet that followed where the Master led^ 

And set their prints where first He'd left His 
tread ! 

His first love ? Oh, you do begin to see 
That he might love her dearly, and that yet 

His manhood's love to you might guerdon be, 
Upon your woman's brow, its coronet. 

Dear girl, accept the gift. There is no other 

First love so holy as she gained — his mother. 



INTANGIBLE 

Patiently over the road we fare, 

Intent on the end we'd win ; 
There's a hint of frost in the misty air, 

And the night is closing in ; 
But vague and far from the muffled past 

Comes a tender, haunting tone, 
And we grasp the skirts of a memory fast. 

From the land of our morning blown. 

'Tis the faint, sweet sound of a tinkling bell 

Over the pastures borne j 
'Tis the lamb's low bleat on the lonesome fell j 

'Tis a rustle amid the corn ; 
The scud and rush of the squirrel's tread 

Parting the withered leaves, 
Or the twitter of swallows overhead 

In the dusk of the cottage eaves. 

And once again we are boys and girls 
In a round of school and play. 



With a mother's hand on our tangled curls, ■ 

When we kneel at her lap to pray. 

Nothing we reck of the ring of gold, ,; 

Nor the fall of the dice on 'Change, ' 

For the beautiful story is all untold, ! 

And the world yet new and strange. 

And Id! instead of the masks we wear ' 

In the throngs we meet to-day, j 

Instead of the shoulders bowed to bear, '^ 

And the eyes no longer gay, j 

Our cheeks are quick with the sudden flush, ] 

We are eager for work and strife, j 

And never a sorrow -has come to hush ^ 

Our jubilant pulse of life. '^ 

We sometimes catch in the crowded street ■ 

A dear pet name we knew, '. 

Ere the dance had gone from the childish feet, '>, 

Or we'd gathered a sprig of rue ^ \ 
'Tis somebody else who claims it now, 

But the spell of the old-time tone j 

Brings unawares unto lip and brow 1 

The light of another zone. i 

Faring apace to the end — 'tis true, | 

Yet ever behind us lies -^ 

The shimmering pearl and the fathomless blue ; 
Of the lucent morning skies. 

6 ' i 

1 



And the wealth we prize as first and best 
Is a wealth no scales can weigh, 

For 'tis not in the East, and not in the West, 
And not on the earth to-day. 



THE PASSING YEAR 

By the glimmer of green and golden, 

The leap and the sparkle of spray, 
By the heart of the rose unfolden 

To the breath of the summer day. 
By the shout and song of the reapers 

Binding the ripened sheaf, 
By the bloom on the fragrant cluster. 

By the fall of the loosened leaf, 
By the feathery whirl of the winter, 

And the deep waves' hollow sound. 
By the moan of the wind in the forest 

When the night was gathering round. 
By the sweet of the honey of lilies, 

By the fields all brown and sere. 
Through the march of the changing seasons, 

We measured the passing year. 

By the baby's step on the carpet, 

By her earliest broken word ; 
And her laugh as she ran to meet us — 

Merrier never was heard. 



By the time when she said, " Our P'ather. 

With two little hands held up, 
And the flower-face softly bending 

Like a blossom's i)rimming cup, 
By the day she was parched with fever. 

And spent with the stress of pain, 
By the hour we gave thanksgiving 

That baby was well again. 
By the hide and seek of her dimples. 

And the start of her April tear, 
By the grace of our darling's growing 

We measured the passing year. 

By the love that is tried and precious, 

And needful as daily bread, 
By the fond hands clasped in ours, 

As the chequered path we tread. 
By the glow of the household faces, 

And the hush of the household peace. 
By the beautiful wifely presence, 

That gives to care surcease. 
By the looks that are ever tender, 

The kiss that is always true. 
By the small familiar sayings. 

And the work we daily do, 
By board and loaf and flagon, 

And the coming of kindred dear. 
The home's unwritten story, 

We've measured the passing year. 
9 



By the brave things thought or spoken, 

By the true deeds simply done, 
By the mean things crushed and conquered 

And the bloodless battles won. 
By the days when the load was heavy, 

Yet the heart grew strong to bear, 
By the days when the heart was craven. 

Lacking the strength of prayer. 
By the hour that crept slow-footed. 

And the hour that flew on wings. 
The time when the harp was silent. 

The time when we swept the strings. 
By the dearth, the dole, and the labor. 

The fulness, reward, and cheer, 
By the book of the angePs record 

We measured the passing year. 

By the joy of the Christmas carols, 

And the solemn shade of the cross, 
By the breaking dawn of Easter, 

And the gain that follows loss. 
By the name of the world's Redeemer, 

And the sins we trample down. 
By the light that shines above us, 

Though the darkling cloud may frown, 
By the silent voices calling, 

By the dear remembered eyes. 
By the heaven which ever beckons, 

Beyond these earthly skies, 

10 



By credos grand and steadfast, j 

Banishing doubt and fear, j 

By the Christian's hope and comfort, ] 

We've measured the passing year. \ 



THE DEAR LITTLE WIFE AT HOME 

The dear little wife at home, John, 

With ever so much to do, 
Stitches to set, and babies to pet, 

And so many thoughts of you — 
The beautiful household fairy, 

Filling your heart with light j 
Whatever you meet to-day, John, 

Go cheerily home to-night. 

For though you are worn and weary, 

You needn't be cross or curt j 
There are words like darts to gentle hearts, 

There are looks that wound and hurt. 
With the key in the latch at home, John, 

Drop troubles out of sight j 
To the dear little wife who is waiting. 

Go cheerily home to-night. 

You know she will come to meet you, 

A smile on her sunny face ; 
And your wee little girl, as pure as a pearl, 

Will be there in her childish grace j 



And the boy, his father's pride, John, 
With eyes so brave and bright j 

From the strife and the din to the peace, John, 
Go cheerily home to-night. 

What though the tempter try you, 

Though the shafts of adverse fate 
May bustle near, and the sky be drear, 

And the laggard fortune wait? 
You are passing rich already. 

Let the haunting fears take flight ; 
With the fate that wins success, John, 

Go cheerily home to-night. 



IF MOTHER WOULD LISTEN 

If mother would listen to me, dears, 

She would freshen that faded gown ; 
She would sometimes take an hour's rest, 

And sometimes a trip to town. 
And it shouldn't be all for the children, 

The fun and the cheer and the play j 
With the patient droop on the tired mouth. 

And the " mother has had her day." 

True, mother has had her day, dears, 

When you were her babies three, 
And she stepped about the farm and the house. 

As busy as ever a bee. 
When she rocked you all to sleep, dears, 

And sent you all to school, 
And wore herself out, and did without. 

And lived by the Golden Rule. 

And so your turn has come, dears, 

Her hair is growing white, 
And her eyes are gaining that far-away look 

That peers beyond the night. 
14 



One of these days in the morning, 

Mother will not be here j 
She will fade away into silence, 

The mother so true and dear. 

Then what will you do in the daylight, 

And what in the gloaming dim? 
And father tired and lonesome then, 

Pray what will you do for him ? 
If you want to keep your mother. 

You must make her rest to-day- 
Must give her a share in the frolic. 

And draw her into the play. 

And it mother would listen to me, dears, 

She'd buy her a gown of silk. 
With buttons of royal velvet, 

And ruffles as white as milk. 
And she'd let you do the trotting, 

While she sat still in the chair j 
That mother should have it hard all through, 

It strikes me isn't fair. 



PATIENT WITH THE LIVING 

Sweet friend, when thou and I are gone 

Beyond earth's weary labor, 
When small shall be our need of grace 

From comrade or from neighbor, 
Past all the strife, the toll, the care. 

And done w^ith all the sighing. 
What tender ruth shall we have gained, 

Alas, by simply dying! 

Then lips too chary for their praise 

Will tell our merits over. 
And eyes too swift our faults to see 

Shall no defect discover. 
Then hands that would not lift a stone 

Where stones were thick to cumber 
Our steep hill path, will scatter flowers 

Above our pillowed slumber. 

Sweet friend, perchance both thou and I, 

Ere love is past forgiving, 
Should take the earnest lesson home — 

Be patient with the living. 
i6 



To-day's repressed rebuke may save 

Our blinding tears to-morrow j . i 

Then patience, e'en when keenest edge 1 

May whet a nameless sorrow. ! 

1 

'Tis easy to be gentle when ! 

Death's silence shames our clamor, \ 

And easy to discern the best ■ 

Through memory's mystic glamour j J 

But wise it were for thee and me, - ; 

Ere love is past forgiving, ; 

To take the -tender lesson home — ; 

Be patient with the living. - 1 

B ^ 



IN THE NIGHT SEASON 

You are face to face with trouble, 

And the skies are murk and grayj 
You hardly know which way to turn. 

You are almost dazed, you say. 
And at night you wake to wonder 

What the next day's news will bring • 
Your pillow is brushed by phantom care 

With a grim and ghastly wing. 

You are face to face with trouble 5 

A child has gone astray j 
A ship is wrecked on the bitter sea,- 

There's a note you cannot pay. 
Your brave right hand is feeble ; 

Your sight is growing blind ; 
Perhaps a friend is cold and stern, 

Who was ever warm and kind. 

You are face to face with trouble ! 

No wonder you cannot sleep j 
But stay ; and think of the promise. 

The Lord will safely keep 



And lead you out of the thicket, 

And into the pasture land ; 
You have only to walk straight onward, 

Holding the dear Lord's hand. 

Face to face with trouble ; 

And did you forget to look, 
As the good old father taught you. 

For help to the dear old Book ? 
You have heard the tempter whisper ,• 

And you've had no heart to pray j 
And God was dropped from your scheme of 
life, 

Oh ! for many a weary day ! 

Then face to face with trouble j 

It is thus He calls you back 
From the land of dearth and famine 

To the land that has no lack. 
You would not hear in the sunshine, 

You hear in the midnight gloom j 
Behold, His tapers kindle 

Like stars in the quiet room. 

Oh ! face to face with trouble, 

Friend, I have often stood ; 
To learn that pain hath sweetness, 

To know that God is good. 
19 



Arise and meet the daylight j 

Be strong, and do your best ! 
With an honest heart, and a childHke faith 

That God will do the rest. 



THE GAIN OF LOSS 

We hollowed the bed for our darhng's rest, 
And lined it with roses white and red, 

And the sod above it we softly pressed. 
" Sleep well," through our gathering tears, 
we said. 

But, oh ! the desolate hours we spent 

In the silent home from which baby went. 

We missed the patter of little feet. 
And the broken music of baby talk 5 

We were lost for the cares that had been so 
sweet, 
When the fearless laddie began to walk. 

And scarce could feel that another Hand 

Was guiding him now in the better land. 

The lonely days, and the lonely nights 5 
Had they ever a gain our fond hearts knew ? 

Ah, yes ! for oft, from the heavenly heights. 
Came echoes floating our darkness through 5 

And the land beyond grew near and bright, 

Where our beautiful baby lived in light. 
21 



And our lives were touched by a holler grace, 
And each to each was bound the more, 

For the dream in our souls of a little face, 
Waiting for us on the farther shore j 

And day by day we heard the chime 

Of bells beyond this passing time. 

There came to us, too, from the baby's grave, 
A tender thought for those who wept, 

And our hands were swifter to bless and save, 
Our hearts in yearning love were kept j 

We were fain to cure each bitter ache, 

Or ease its smart, for baby's sake. 

And so we have learned to count the gain. 
Where once we counted alone the loss j 

And so, through the bittersweet of pain, 
Have found the blessing within the cross. 

" Thank God," we cry, with reverent breath, 

" For the life that is quickened but through 
death !" 



THE WIND ACROSS THE WHEAT 

You ask me for the sweetest sound mine 
ears have ever heard ? 

A sweeter than the ripples' plash, or trilling 
of a bird, 

Than tapping of the rain-drops upon the roof 
at night. 

Than the sighing of the pine-trees on yon- 
der mountain height? 

And I tell you, these are tender, yet never 
quite so sweet 

As the murmur and the cadence of the wind 
across the wheat. 

Have you watched the golden billows in a 

sunlit sea of grain. 
Ere yet the reaper bound the sheaves, to fill 

the creaking wain? 
Have you thought how snow and tempest, 

and the bitter wintry cold, 
Were but the guardian angels, the next year's 

bread to hold? 

23 



A precious thing, unharmed by the turmoil 

of the sky, 
Just waiting, growing, silently, until the storms 

went by ! 

Oh ! have you lifted up your heart, to Him 

who loves us all, 
And listens, through the angel - songs, if but 

a sparrow fall ? 
And then, thus thinking of His hand, what 

symphony so sweet 
As the music in the long refrain, the wind 

across the wheat ? 

It hath its dulcet echoes, from many a lullaby. 
Where the cradled babe is hushed beneath 

the mother's loving eye. 
It hath its heaven-promise, as sure as heaven's 

throne. 
That He who sent the manna, will ever feed 

His own 5 
And, though an atom only, 'mid countless 

hosts who share 
The Maker's never-ceasing watch, the Father's 

deathless care. 
That atom is as dear to Him, as my dear 

child to me 5 
He cannot lose me from my place, through 

all eternity : 

24 



You wonder, when it sings me this, there's 

nothing half so sweet, 
Beneath the circling planets, as the wind 

across the wheat ? 



THE HELP THAT COMES TOO LATE 

'Tis a wearisome world, this world of ours, 
With its tangles small and great. 

Its weeds that smother the springing flow- 
ers, 
And its hapless strifes with fate ^ 

But the darkest day of its desolate days 
Sees the help that comes too late. 

Ah ! woe for the word that is never said 

Till the ear is deaf to hear. 
And woe for the lack to the fainting head 

Of the ringing shout of cheer ,• 
Ah ! woe for the laggard feet that tread 

In the mournful wake of the bier. 

What booteth help when the heart is numb ? 

What booteth a broken spar 
Of love thrown out when the lips are dumb. 

And life's barque drifted far, 
Oh ! far and fast from the alien past, 

Over the moaning bar ? 
26 



A pitiFul thing the gift to-day 
That is clross and nothing worth, 

Though if it had come but yesterday, 
It had brimmed with sweet the earth ; 

A fading rose in a death-cold hand, 
That perished in want and dearth. 

Who fain would help in this world of ours, 
Where sorrowful steps must fall, 

Bring help in time to the waning powers 
Ere the bier is spread with the pall ; 

Nor send reserves when the flags are furled. 
And the dead beyond your call. 

For baffling most in this dreary world. 
With its tangles small and great, 

Its lonesome nights and its weary days, 
And its struggles forlorn with fate, 

Is that bitterest grief, too deep for tears. 
Of the help that comes too late. 



WAITING FOR THE ANGELS 

Waiting through days of fever, 
Waiting through nights of pain, 

For the waft of wings at the portal, 
For the sound of songs immortal, 
And the breaking of life's long chain. 

There is little to do for our dear one — 

Only to watch and pray — 

As the tide is outward drifting, 
As the gates of heaven are lifting, 

And its gleam is on her way. 

The tasks that so often taxed her 
The children she held so dear, 

The strain of the coming and going, 
The stress of the mending and sewing. 
The burden of many a year. 

Trouble her now no longer. 

She is past the fret and care. 

On her brow is the angePs token, 
The look of a peace unbroken. 

She was never before so fair. 

2S 



You see she is waiting the angels, 
And we — we are standing apart. 
For us there are loss and sorrow 
For her is the endless morrow, 
And the reaping-time of the heart. 



WHITTIER 

September 7, 1892 

His fourscore years and five 

Are gone, like a tale that is told. 

The quick tears start, there's an ache at the 
heart, 
For we never thought him old. 

Straight as a mountain pine, 
With the mountain eagle's eye, 

With the hand-clasp strong, and the unhushed 
song, 
Was it time for him to die ? 

Prophet and priest he stood 

In the storm of embattled years j 

The broken chain was his harp's refrain, 
And the peace that is balm for tears. 

The hills and the valleys knew 
The poet who kept their tryst. 

To our common life and our daily strife. 
He brought the blessing of Christ. 
30 



And we never thought him old, 

Though his locks were white as snow. 

O heart of gold, grown suddenly cold, 
It was not time to go ! 



TENNYSON 

" Suiiset and evening star. 

And one clear call for me I 
A nd may there be no moaning of tlu bar 
When I put out to sea.''* 

There was no moaning of the bar, 

O singer lost from sight, 
When out beyond our evening star, 

Death drifted thee to light. 

Black was the pilot at the helm ; 

Dark gloomed the hither shore ; 
But never wave could overwhelm. 

The land that gleamed before. 

Beyond these voices there is peace ! 

Life fills thy cxip this day ! 
From pain and weariness surcease 

They find who pass this way! 

Oh ! laurelled at the head and feet, 
We cannot call thee dead ! 

Our hearts repeat thy music sweet, 
And we are comforted. 

32 



A BALLAD OF MAY 

We were ploughing the far - hill meadow, 
Abner, Reuben, and I, 
In the flush of the sweet May morning, 
and the ofF-horse balked at the rise 
Midway in the longest furrow j and I patted 
and coaxed him on 5 
I remember the scent of the brown earth, 
th€ blue of the bending skies. 

Said Abner : " We'll rest for the nooning ; 
Old Don's in an ugly mood. 
No wonder he's tired, poor fellow j the colt 
doesn't do his share. 
I know how a horse feels, David, with a 
stubborn drop in his blood, 
When his mate is a bit of a shirk, Dave. 
I tell you it isn't fair !" 

I was ready to flare in a moment ,• you see, 
I was fond of the colt. 
I had trained him myself. He was flighty 

and full of kittenish pranks, 
c 33 



And he didn''t know, and / didn't know, my 
dear little black Ben Bolt, 
How grave and steady he'd grow yet, 
trained in the cavalry ranks. 

For swift through the sweet May morning 
came the flying thunder of hoofs. 
And " Dave ! Dave ! Dave !" called my 
neighbor, Jonathan Bell. 
It was hurry and scurry and hasten, " Arm 
for your fields and your roofs !" 
And I left the boys and the ploughing, 
and galloped away pell-mell. 



Do you know the blue Shenandoah, with its 
loops and twists of light, 
Its foams of torrent. Its gleams, Its brawls, 
its sheen through the fields of wheat ? 
All through our mountain valley we were 
up, as we thought, for the right. 
Our hearts and our wills were tempered to 
the glow of a fierce white-heat. 



The bluecoats were swarming near us. Over 
our winding ways 
Glittered their dark battalions, and the flag 
we used to love 
34 



Flaunted its stern defiance through the grim 
and passionate days 
When men did the desperate fighting, and 
women sousrht God above. 



Well, it's all past ! Heaven be thanked, boys. 
But there's never a Southern May, 
Sweet with the lilac and jasmine, that I do 
not live again 
Through the anger and storm and madness, 
and the rollicking times and gay, 
When I was a boy on my black Ben Bolt, 
off in that hot campaign. 



I am glad the flag of my fathers still waves 
o'er my native land. 
And that grave ? That my little maid 
Ethel covers with flowers to-day. 
Dotit laugh ! You fellows are heartless. 
Yet how should you understand ? 
That's Ben Bolt's grave in the meadow. 
We buried him there one May. 

I'm grizzled and tough as a pine knot, and 
I limp a little, of course. 
But I'd never have won my wife there, 
and the children on my knee 
35 



Would have called some other man father, 
but for the brave black horse, 
Who carried me safe through shot and 
shell, whatever our fate might be. 

Battle and march and ambush, I and my 
black Ben Bolt, 
We scrambled it through together, and we 
both went back to the plough. 
But Abner and Rube were dead, boys ! I 
tell you that Morgan colt 
Had stuff in him hard to beat, and I wish 
he were living now! 



THEN AND NOW 

G. A. R.-WASHINGTON, 1892 

From the wide and wind-swept prairies. 

From the rugged sea-blown coast, 
From the uplands and the lowlands. 

They thronged in a mighty host. 
Forth from the towns and cities. 

With the speed of the rushing train, 
They hurried, the dear old fellows. 

To answer the roll again. 

They fell into line and column, 

Regiment and brigade, 
With the gallant colors streaming, 

And the fiery music played. 
And they marched as -in the old time. 

Though here was the tap of a crutch. 
And there was the droop of an empty sleeve 

Tangling the heart in its clutch. 

The heaven of mid-September 

Beamed over them, blue and bland. 

And women smiled their welcomes, 
And children waved a hand. 

37 



There were mirth and greetings only 
In the wake of this latest camp. 

Though the death-thinned ranks remembered 
The past in that sturdy tramp — 

Remembered a long procession, 

Staggering, sore bespent. 
Back from a hundred battles, 

With banners grimed and rent. 
Boys with their gaunt pale faces. 

The friends of hunger and thirst ; 
Men who had looked through the gates of 
hell 

And dared the devil his worst. 

Up from the Mississippi, 

From the flame-scarred Georgian track. 
From the Wilderness, and from Gettys- 
burg, 

Those soldiers came toiling back. 
Are these the same, one marvels j 

Does the old light gleam and shine, 
As they follow the fife and bugle 

In the long, unwavering line ? 

Aye, verily ! Here are the comrades 
With brown heads turned to gray, 

And lint-white locks have the gray-beards, 
Strong in that elder day. 
33 



They left their youth behind them 
In the tempest of years agone, 

When sweet out of War's rough cradle 
Slipped Peace in the breaking dawn. 



Hats off! There's a greater army 

Unstirred in its silent sleep 
By the ponderous tread of the living 

And the cannons' thunder deep. 
An army that keeps its muster 

On stones that as sentries stand, 
With the names of tens of thousands, 

The flower of all the land. 



The winds are forever chanting 

A requiem for these ; 
Brave autumn flaunts their banners 

In the flushing maple-trees ; 
And the glad birds, winging southward, 

Over them pause and rest. 
Dropping a song for love, above 

The flower of East and West. 



A truce to memory's dreaming! 

O flag that we live to serve j 
By all we hold most holy. 

Never from thee we'll swerve ! 
39 



Dear flag that rallies a nation, 
A mighty, growing host 

From the breezy, rippling prairies 
To the rugged sea-blown coast. 



THE EVENING LESSON 

In hands that are gnarled with labor, 

And swart with the kiss of the sun, 
She is holding her worn old Bible 

When the day is almost done. 
And, gazing through misty glasses. 

For her eyes are growing dim. 
She thinks of the Lord who has led her. 

And the way she has walked with Him. 

The hills in the purple distance 

Looked over her childish head: 
No charm from their brows has faded, 

No tint of their glory fled. 
And the sweet green-waving meadows 

Through the long years reaped and sown, 
For all their harvest guerdons 

No blight of age have known. 

But she can scarce remember, 

It went so long ago, 
The time of the tripping footstep. 

And the heart's exultant glow. 
41 



The life has been hard and bitter, 
With its tasks and dull routine, 

Less of a song than a sermon, 
And the rests so few between. 

And yet, she has walked with the Mas- 
ter ; 

He has come at the even-tide 
To comfort her with His presence. 

He has lingered oft by her side 
In the hour of care and sorrow, 

And the burden has not pressed 
So heavily at His whisper, 

" Lo ! I will give you rest V 

She read just now in the chapter 

Where her ribbon marker lies, 
Of the flow of the crystal river, 

And the never-darkened skies. 
In her there is less of longing 

For the golden-paven street. 
Than for somewhere a little refuge 

Low at the Saviour's feet. 

She has even a quiver of shyness 

P^or the angels at the gate. 
And the splendid stately choirs 

At the great white throne who wait, 
42 



And yearns for a tiny corner 

To hide herself away, 
Till she feels at home in heaven. 

In the wonderful, peaceful day. 

Dear soul, trust Him who loveth 

His own to the very end. 
Who, alike for earth and heaven, 

Is thine unfailing Friend. 
He will lift the latest burden, 

And loose thy sandal-shoon, 
And give thee youth and freedom 

In His own good time, and soon. 

Reading the evening lesson 

In a simple, childlike way. 
She gathers strength for the labor 

Of each revolving day. 
She never has time in the morning, 

When the work must all be done, 
But she keeps her tryst with the Master 

At the setting of the sun. 



BELLS IN THE DESERT 

Above, the desert's mocking sky ; 

Below, the desert's sand j 
No palm's green fringe to rest the eye, 

No fruit to fill the hand. 

But on the pilgrim's raptured ear, 

In liquid, silvery swells 
Oh, faint and far, yet sweet and clear, 

The sound of Sabbath bells. 

Across the brooding desert-gloom 
The matchless music floats, 

The fragrance of the clover's bloom 
Is in the lingering notes. 

Athwart the dark sirocco's drift 
The thought of home is borne ; 

Once more their wings the robins lift 
Above the springing corn. 
44 



No count of dreary days he keeps. 

The weary leagues along, 
When lo ! o'er flesh and spirit sweeps 

A tide of hallowed song. 

The sweet bells chime ; his sister blends 

Her voice amid their waves, 
O'er half the world Balerma sends 

The call of Him who saves. 

A space, the airy music dies. 

And silence reigns supreme. 
Once more, the sand, the empty skies, 

The fading of a dream. 

Yet, bravely heartened, on he goes, 

As girded on with strength. 
Nor fears the rush of sudden foes, 

Nor dreads the journey's length. 

The thought of home, the vision pure, 
Have cheered the toilsome way, 

And nerved the pilgrim to endure 
The trials of the day. 

Ah! comrades, in this world of pain 
What courage, hope, and cheer. 

The bells of heaven with sweet refrain 
Sound on the listening ear. 
45 



We hear them when our lips are dumb, 

When life is dull and gray, 
God's loving messengers, they come, 

God's wondrous words they say. 

Perchance the hands of dear ones gone 
Touch soft the vibrant strings, 

Or, angels of the immortal dawn, 
Draw near on soundless wings. 

To us alone the song is sent. 

The wine for us is poured, 
We rise, and forward fare, content — 

Our eyes have seen the Lord. 



A LESSON 

My little laddie with the earnest eyes 

Had toiled an hour to build a castle fair^ 

I watched each bridge and tower and turret 
rise, 
Then saw him slowly make a winding stair. 

Most beautiful the castle was to see ! 

A wee flag floating from the battlement ! 
Alas! my hasty touch! Ah! woe is me, 

The whole fi-ail fabric into ruins went ! 

One instant anger lit the childish face, 

Quick tears sprang up to quench the dark 
eyes light ; 

And then, with wonderful, imperial grace. 
He curbed that fiery spirit in my sight. 

" Tou dldnt mean to ! Never mind," he said. 

"Fll build a prettier castle by and byj" 
Then, with a swift shake of the sunny head, 

" Why, Dearie, nenjer mind I You shouldn't 



47 



Brave little hero, may I be as strong, 
As swift and ready in self-mastery. 

Whene'er in this world's course mistake or 
wrong 
Upsets some castle just as dear to me ! 



CHRYSANTHEMUMS 

With summer and sun behind you. 

With winter and shade before, 
You crowd in your regal splendor 

Through the autumn's closing door. 
White as the snow that is coming. 

Red as the rose that is gone, 
Gold as the heart of the lilies. 

Pink as the flush of the dawn. 
Confident, winsome, stately, 

You throng in the wane of the year. 
Trooping an army with banners 

When the leafless woods are sere. 

Sweet is your breath as of spices 

From a far sea island blown j 
Chaste your robes as of vestals 

Trimming their lamps alone. 
Strong are your hearts, and sturdy 

The life that in root and stem 
Smoulders and glows till it sparkles 

In each flowery diadem. 
> 49 



Nothing of bloom and odor 
Have your peerless legions lost, 

Marching in fervid beauty 

To challenge the death-white frost. 

So to the eye of sorrow 

Ye bring a flicker of light j 
The cheek that was wan with illness 

Smiles at your faces bright. 
The children laugh in greeting, 

And the dear old people say, 
" Here are the self-same darlings 

We loved in our own young day," 
As, summer and sun behind you, 

Winter and shade before, 
You crowd in your regal splendor 

Through the autumn's closing door. 



IN THE BELFRY 

Climb up the dusky turret stair 

Ere yet the dawn of day, 
And set the silent bells to speech, 

That near and far away 
All waking things may hear the joy 

Pulsating in the air, 
As Freedom's silver chimes exult 

For Freedom everywhere. 

Climb up the narrow turret stair, . 

Oh, ringer, haste to climb ! 
The bells shall ring for answered prayer 

Adown the aisles of Time. 
In this dear Western land of ours, 

Still let the tale be told. 
That Freedom's self we dearer prize 

Than misers prize their gold. 

Climb up the haunted belfry stair ! 

A hundred years ago 
A boy's blithe ringing struck the peal 

That challenged friend and foe j 
51 



The flag flung out its vivid folds. 
And forth from many a spire 

The answering bells in music broke 
To greet the land's desire. 

Climb up the echoing turret stair. 

And ring the bells once more. 
From sea to sea, from lip to lip. 

Oh, bid the joy run o'er ! 
Dear land that Godward looks to-day. 

Dear land that childward bends, 
Thine be the call our hearts obey 

Full gladly till life ends. 



IN HAMPTON ROADS 

April, 1893 

Blue sky above, blue sea below, 

A rainbow flutter from fort and fleet, 

Flashing of signals to and fro, 

And the ocean highway a thronging street. 

Banners flung on the April air. 

Thunder of cannon in blithe salute. 

The drum's deep note and the trumpet's blare, 
The mellow music of pipe and flute. 

Seafaring men, with faces tanned 

By sun and tempest and windy weather, 

A chain of commerce that land with land 
Links the states of the world together. 

And back of it all, to-day, one sees 
The swart, stern brow of the Genoese ; 
And under it all, to day, one hears 
The diapason of time's long years. 

53 



FLOWERS FOR MEMORIAL DAY 

Come hither, little darling, and help me gather 
bloom — 

Great roses, soaked with sunshine, and the 
lilac's purple plume j 

For the banners will be waving, the stormy- 
drums will beat, 

And the tread of marching regiments will 
shake the listening street ,• 

And you will clap your hands, dear, the 
world will be so gay. 

The shops and schools all closed in town, 
this bright Memorial Day. 

You ask what 'tis about, dear, and why we 
pick the flowers. 

And break the long, green branches, dew- 
gemmed in fragrant showers ; 

Why we always take the same path, and 
seek the solemn place 

Where rows and rows of narrow graves are 
marshalled in one space, 
54 



As if a regiment of dead were sleeping there 
together, 

As many a time in life they slept, unheed- 
ing wind or weather. 

Hear this, my bonny darling j you're old 

enough to know 
That once these sleeping soldiers grimly faced 

a living foe. 
My father was among them, and I, a child 

like you, 
Gave him a good-bye kiss, dear, when he 

wore our country's blue. 
He caught me in his arms, dear, and his 

bearded cheek was wet ; 
That parting kiss and clasp, my child, I 

never could forget. 
He loved these dear spring flowers, the lilacs 

best of all. 
And we'll cover up his bed with them — a 

royal purple pall. 

Halt ! Why, the men are coming j they are 
just beyond the door. 

Run out, my little one, and strew the flowers 
their feet before. 

And wave your dimpled hand, dear, to the 
banner of the stars. 

There is no flag so splendid, worth the heart- 
aches and the scars, 
55 



Worth all it cost to save it, worth all our 

love and pride — 
The banner brave men live for, and for 

which brave men died. 

And oft as spring returns, dear, and decks 

the smiling land. 
Till the blossoms break and ripple, like the 

foam upon the strand, 
Whatever else we do, dear, whatever leave 

undone, 
We'll keep in sacred memory the men whose 

fields are won. 
We'll ask our God to make us as pure 

and brave as they 
On whose green graves we scatter bloom this 

fair Memorial Day. 



CROSSING THE DOWN-TOWN 
FERRIES 

Crossing the down-town ferries, 

I challenge a braver sight 
Than the throngs of working-people 

Homeward faring at night. 
Never a drum before them, 

Never a banner above. 
But they march to soundless music 

Under the flag of love. 

There are men with grimy faces 

And coats that are out of date, 
Women whose pallid lips and cheeks 

Tell the dreary struggle with fate. 
But oh ! the cheery courage 

And the eyes with light aglow 
As over the down-town ferries 

These toilers come and go! 

They are working for wife and babies, 
For a mother bent and gray. 

Or a sister bound to a weary couch. 
With only the strength to pray. 



■i 

57 i 



Working for honest wages 

To pay for the bread they eat, 

Or to buy the children's school-books, 
And shoes for the children's feet. 

Crossing the down-town ferries 

Daily at set of sun, 
You may meet the crowds of toilers 

Whose long day's work is done. 
You know what a shout of greeting 

They'll hear when they lift the latch — 
A shout the angels listen for, 

And pause in their songs to catch. 

Who does not thrill with pleasure 

As the brave procession comes, 
Needing no rally of bugles, 

Nor beat of strenuous drums ? 
Though a host may press anear them 

Who neither toil nor spin. 
Nor theirs to wear the laurels 

The lowlier laborers win. 



LOOKING UPWARD 



TWO OR THREE 

There were only two or three of us, 

Who came to the place of prayer, 
Came in the teeth of a driving storm, 

But for that we did not care, 
Since, after our hymns of praise had risen. 

And our earnest prayers were said. 
The Master Himself was present there. 

And gave us the living bread. 

We knew His look in our leader's face, 

So rapt, and glad, and free j 
We felt His touch when our heads were bowed, 

We heard His " Come to Me !" 
Nobody saw Him lift the latch. 

And none unbarred the door ,• 
But " Peace " was His token to every heart. 

And how could we ask for more ? 

Each of us felt the load of sin 

From the weary shoulder fall ; 
Each of us dropped the load of care, 

And the grief that was like a pall j 
6i 



And over our spirits a blessed calm 

Swept in from the jasper sea. 
And strength was ours for toil and strife 

In the days that were thence to be. 

It was only a handful gathered in 

To the little place of prayer j 
Outside were struggle and pain and sin, 

But the Lord Himself was there j 
He came to redeem the pledge He gave — 

Wherever His loved ones be, 
To stand Himself in the midst of them, 

Though they count but two or three. 

And forth we fared in the bitter rain. 

And our hearts had grown so warm 
It seemed like the pelting of summer flowers, 

And not like the crash of a storm. 
" 'Twas a time of the dearest privilege 

Of the Lord's right hand," we said, 
As we thought how Jesus Himself had come 

To feed us with living bread. 



TE DEUM LAUDAMUS 

For our dear ones safe on the other side, 

We give Thee praise, O Lord ! 
Though our hearts are sore for prayers denied. 

And our songs have a broken chord. 
Never the stain of shame or sin. 

Never the bUght of pain. 
Shall come to the blest who have entered in. 

Where only love doth reign. 

Entered in to the hall of the feast, 

Through the gates of jasper clear ; 
Where the dear Lord's hand shall lead the 
least, 

And Himself shall to all be near. 
Entered in, where the deathless life 

Into every soul is poured. 
Entered, where never toil or strife 

Is seen in the light of the Lord. 

Some, whom we lost in the long ago, 
Are waiting to greet us there j 
63 



Forgotten the burden of mortal woe, 

Untasted the earth's despair. 
Oh ! well when we kneel at the Master's feet, 

May we thank His tender love, 
That saved the bitter and gave the sweet, 

In the cup they quaff abov^e. 

But thanks and praise for the dear ones gone 

To dwell in the peace of God, 
No longer weary, or spent, or lone. 

No longer under the rod ; 
Learning and growing day by day , 

Where they count not life by days, 
Treading forever the upward way — 

For these let us offer praise. 

Swiftly and surely the hour will come, 

When, dropping the load of care, 
We, too, shall wing to the better home. 

And be found of the loved ones there. 
For the family life, and the family love. 

Are safe in the Father's thought ; 
And one and all, to His house above. 

Shall His ransomed at last be brought. 



HOW LONG? 

Some days when the sun is brightest, 

And the wind is soft and sweet, 
When the ripples feather the hghtest 

Over the ripened wheat j 
When the world is fullest of music, 

And life is thrilled with song. 
The cry of my soul is lifted, 

" How long, O Lord ! how long ?" 

For against the rich, blithe summer 

The pain of the world is set ; 
I hear the moans of the shipwrecked, 

And the groans of vain regret. 
The wail of the heavy-hearted, 

The grief of the one gone wrong, 
And the cry of my soul is lifted, 

" How long, O Lord ! how long ?" 

Then, stilling my thoughts that struggi 
And bidding the tumult cease. 

As sweet as an angel's whisper, 
Comes a blessed word of peace, 

E 65 



1 

And the Lord Himself says, gently : : 

"Hush not thy thankful song, : 

I am yet the Father In heaven, 

And I list to thy plaint, * How long ?' . ^ 

" In the day of the years eternal, ; 

Beginning and end I see, ; 

The world is glad and sorrowful both, \ 

And the world is safe with Me. '\ 

The trouble and loss shall vanish ; i 

Believe, and await the song, , 

Untouched by the minor of discord, \ 

Where the ransomed legions throng." | 



GOD'S APPOINTMENTS 

This thing on which thy heart was set, this 

thing that cannot be, 
This weary, disappointing day, that dawns, 

my friend, for thee j — 
Be comforted ; God knoweth best, the God 

whose name is Love, 
Whose tender care is evermore our passing 

lives above. 
He sends thee disappointment ? Well, then, 

take it from His hand. 
Shall God's appointment seem less good than 

what thyself had planned? 

'Twas in thy mind to go abroad. He bids 

thee stay at home ? 
Oh ! happy home j thrice happy if to it thy 

guest He come. 
'Twas in thy mind thy friend to see. The 

Lord says, " Nay, not yet." 
Be confident j the meeting-time thy Lord will 

not forget. 

67 



""Twas in thy mind to work for Him. His 

will is, " Child, sit still ;" 
And surely 'tis thy blessedness to mind the 

Master's will. 
Accept thy disappointment, fi-iend, thy gift 

from God's own hand. 
Shall God's appointment seem less good than 

what thyself had planned ? 

So, day by day and step by step, sustain thy 

falling strength. 
From strength to strength, indeed, go on 

through all the journey's length. 
God bids thee tarry now and then, forbear 

the weak complaint j 
God's leisure brings the weary rest, and cor- 
dial gives the faint. 
God bids thee labor, and the place is thick 

with thorn and brier ,• 
But He will share the hardest task, until He 

calls thee higher. 
So take each disappointment, friend ; 'tis at 

thy Lord's command ! 
Shall God's appointment seem less good than 

what thyself had planned ? 



A KING'S MESSENGER 

"The King will send a messenger 5 set thou 

thy house in state, 
And listening for His high behests, do thou 

in patience wait." 
So ran the letter that she read, between the 

dawn and dark, 
And her heart went forth in answer swift, 

the day of days to mark. 



Soon the house was swept and garnished, and 

she filled each space with flowers, 
And, singing, to and fro she passed, and chid 

the laggard hours j 
Then her board was spread for feasting, and 

her flagons brimmed with wine. 
For naught could be too rich or rare to 

please the guest Divine. 



" The King will send a messenger, a mes- 
senger who stands 

Full often where he takes the gifts of love 
from royal hands. 
69 



The King hath gift and grace for thee, have 

thou thy heart prepared ; 
The precious treasure meant for thee, no other 

soul hath shared." 



that burn, 
The steadfast warders of the night, each in 

its ordered turn j 
And she set her heart in order, she searched 

her soul to see 
If any evil thing by chance in lurking haunt 

might be. 



She knelt in lowly vigil, and her pleading 
prayer went forth, 

But came apace no messenger from South- 
land or from North. 

She questioned Life, she questioned Death, she 
asked all mystery. 

But none could tell her of the gift that erst 
her own would be. 



And while she waited, ill at ease, the song 

died on her lips, 
The flowers faded, and the light of noonday 

knew eclipse ; 

70 



A shadow crept athwart the floor, the door 

swung open wide, 
And the messenger the King had sent was 

standing at her side. 

Alas ! That messenger had brought a gleam- 
ing sword of woe, 

That reft the golden links of love, and laid 
the dearest low. 

She shivered, mute and desolate, crushed under 
blinding pain j 

Could this be Heaven's messenger, to cleave 
her life in twain ? 



Then the day grew as the midnight, and the 

midnight as the day j 
Nor sun nor stars shone over her, upon the 

weary way. 
Men marked the furrowing of her brow, the 

blanching of her hair. 
And the shadow deep and deeper grew, till 

night lay everywhere. 



Then slowly came a marvel, a miracle to 

see. 
For out of gloom a wondrous light was 

born her own to be. 
71 



There was knowledge of all suffering, that 

through the torpor stole, 
Until she learned the secret of the balm that 

maketh whole. 



Then the shadow changed to glory, and be- 
hold ! an angel form, 

With a radiance like the splendor of the 
sunlight after storm ! 

And ere she knew it Heaven had come within 
her home's small space, 

To make, oh ! strange, sweet wonder, there a 
hallowed dwelling-place. 



And now the flowers are blooming, and again 

she sings by day. 
And she feels the angels near her when at 

eve she kneels to pray. 
She shall find the dear lost darlings, she will 

know them as they stand, 
Serene and full of gladness, in the blessed 

better land. 



The King did send a messenger, and Sorrow 

was his name. 
And in his mighty hand he bore a sword of 

smiting flame. 

72 



Bat the sword was wreathed with lilies, and 

they will not fade away. 
For they were sown in gardens where the 

flowers bloom for aye. 



THE CITY OF GOD 

Four square it lies, with walls of gleaming 
pearl 
And gates that are not shut at all by day: 
There evermore their wings the storm winds 
fori, 
And night falls not upon the shining way 
Up which by twos and threes, and in great 
throngs, 
The happy people tread, whose mortal road 
Led straight to that fair home of endless 
songs, 
The city, beautiful and vast, of God. 

Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, the 

joy, 

The light, the bloom of that sweet dwell- 
ing-place, 
Where praise is aye the rapturous employ 
Of those who there behold God's loving 
face. 

74 



Here, fretted by so many a tedious care, 
And bowed by burdens on the weary road, 

We cannot dream of all the glory there, 
In that bright city, beautiful, of God. 

There some have waited for our coming long. 

Blown thither on the mystic tide of death. 
They catch some fragments of our broken 
song, 

The while the eternal years are as a breath. 
There we shall go one gladsome day of days, 

And drop forever every cumbering load. 
And we shall view, undimmed by earth's 
low haze. 

The city, beautiful and vast, of God. 

In that great city we shall see the King, 

And tell Him how He took us by the hand 
And let us, in our weakness, drag and cling, 

As children when they do not understand. 
Yet with the mother walk as night comes 
on, 

And wish that home were on some smooth- 
er road. 
Oh, with what pleasure shall we look upon 

Our Saviour in the city of our God ! 



A SONG OF SUMMER 

The ships glide in at the harbor's mouth, 

And the ships sail out to sea, 
And the wind that sweeps from the sunny- 
South, 

It is sweet as sweet can be. 
There's a world of toil and a world of pains, 

There's a world of trouble and care, 
But oh, in a world where our Father reigns, 

There is gladness everywhere ! 

The harvest waves in the breezy morn, 
And the men go forth to reap j 

The fulness comes to the tasselled corn. 
Whether we wake or sleep. 

And far on the hills by feet untrod. 
There are blossoms that scent the air, 

For oh, in this world of our Father, God, 



There is beauty everywhere 



The breath grows faint on the dying lips 
And the weary hands lie still. 

Our life is dimmed by the grief-eclipse, 
But we rest on the Father's will. 
76 



A world of parting, a world of tears, 

Yet we sink not in despair, 
For oh, in the midst of the mournful years, 

There is comfort everywhere ! 

The babe lies soft on the mother's breast. 

And the tide of joy flows in. 
He giveth, He taketh. He knoweth best, 

The Lord to whose home we win. 
And oh, when the soul is with trials tossed, 

There is help in the lifted prayer ! 
For never a soul that He loves is lost, 

And our Father is everywhere. 

The ships sail over the harbor bar 

Away and away to sea. 
The ships sail in with the evening star 

To the port where no tempests be. 
The harvests wave on the summer hills, 

And the bands go forth to reap. 
And all is right, as our Father wills, 

Whether we wake or sleep. 



A DAY OF THE LORD 

It was not a day of feasting, 

Nor a day of the brimming cup ; 
There were bitter drops in the fountain 

Of life as it bubbled up, 
And over the toilsome hours 

Were sorrow and weakness poured, 
Yet I said " Amen," when night came ,• 

It had been a day of the Lord. 

A day of His sweetest whispers, 

In the hush of the tempest's whirl ; 
A day when the Master's blessing 

Was pure in my hand as a pearl. 
A day when, under orders, 

I was fettered, yet was free j 
A day of strife and triumph, 

A day of the Lord to me. 

And my head as it touched the pillow, 
When the darkness gathered deep, 

Was soothed at the thought of taking 
The gift of childlike sleep j 

78 



For what were burdens carried, 

And what was the foeman's sword, 

To one who had fought and conquered 
In a blessed day of the Lord ? 



THE INVISIBLE GUEST 

The whole family in heaven and on earth. — Eph. Hi. 15. 

The children gather the table round, 

And this is rosy and that is fair ; 
No dearer group in the land is found, 

With their laughing eyes and their golden 
hair. 
In its innocent freedom the household mirth 

Ripples along in a sparkling tide, 
And the ruddy cheer of the firelit hearth 

Streams o'er the snow on the highway side. 

But the mother turns from the curtained 
pane, 

And, counting her children one by one, 
Sees the child who will never come back again, 

Just as if she had never gone. 
And between her sisters the grave, sweet face, 

A lingering smile in the lovely eyes, 
Is lighting the mother's shadowed place 

With the wonderful glory of Paradise. 
So 



Only a tender fancy, wrought 

Of tissues a mother's longing weaves ? 
Only a picture of mejmory brought 

From under the last year's withered leaves ? 
/ like to think that the Father's love, 

Keeping us all in its hallowed care, 
Sent that sweet waft from the home above 

To comfort the mother mourning there. 

She mused but now of the little mound, 

A gray-green scar on the furrowed turf. 
The white drifts heaping its loneness round, 

Tumbled and broken like frozen surf, 
And the old pain woke ; yet her gentle 
thought 

Was not to silence the children's glee, 
When into her spirit's depth was brought 

A word triumphant : " Lord, with Thee, 

" Dear Lord, with Thee is my treasure kept, 

Safe from the storm which sweeps the wild, 

At home with Thee, for in Thee she slept. 

And my Saviour's arms enfold my child." 

How many who think of the dear ones gone, 

Thus lift the heart to the better land — 
Thus wait through the night till the new 
day's dawn, 
In the Presence where they and we shall 

stand. 
F 8i 



Their names are starred on the houshold roll 5 

They mingle not in the household life j 
Yet — living soul unto living soul — 

They whisper peace to our v^'eary strife. 
Not theirs to struggle for daily bread, 

To join the search for the fleeting goldj 
But not a pulse of their love is dead. 

Nor ever a thought they send us cold. 

Into our gay and festal days, 

As into days that are dull and gray, 
They drop the sweets of the endless praise, 

Which thrills in the place where their 
angels stay. 
And what though sometimes the tear-drops 
start, 

As the haunting footsteps go and come ! 
Their memory hallows the trusting heart, 

And bids its murmur of loss be dumb. 



THEY NEITHER TOIL NOR SPIN 

They neither toil nor spin j they wear 
Their loveliness without a care j 

As pure as when the Master's feet 
Were set amid their perfume sweet. 

The summer hills rejoice to see 
Their carven censers swinging free. 

They wait within the gates of dawn 
Till all the watching stars are gone. 

Then open cups of honey-dew, 
To greet the morn's returning hue. 

Oh fair, wise virgins, clothed in white j 
Oh lilies, fresh from looms of light, 

I dearly love you, for the word 
That stars you, noted of the Lord. 

83 



I love you when, in gold and red, 
The sunset colors o'er you spread ; 

Or when, like fairy sails of snow, 
The river rocks you to and fro. 

You are the Master's flowers to me ; 
His smile upon your grace I see. 

My transient discontents I hush, 
If but my garment's hem ye brush. 

And everywhere your fragrance brings 
This message from the King of Kings: 

" We neither toil nor spin. And ye, 
Who spin so long and wearily, 

" Who toil amid earth's grime and dust, 
Behold — a hallowed arc of trust. 

" Oh, pause and hear the Father say 
His angels are your guides to-day ! 

" While worlds in matchless order move. 



For He who bids the planets sweep, 
Cares for the tiniest babe asleep." 
84 



THE CORE OF THE HOUSE 

The core of the house, the dearest place, the 

one that we all love best, 
Holding it close in our heart of hearts, for 

its comfort and its rest, 
Is never the place where strangers come, nor 

yet where friends are met. 
Is never the stately drawing-room, where our 

treasured things are set. 
Oh, dearer far, as the time recedes in a dream 

of colors dim. 
Breathing across our stormy moods like the 

echo of a hymn. 
Forever our own, and only ours, and pure as 

a rose in bloom. 
Is the centre and soul of the old home nest. 

the mother's darling room. 

We flew to its arms when we rushed from 
school, with a thousand things to tell ; 

Our mother was always waiting there, had 
the day gone ill or well. 
85 



No other pillow was quite so cool, under an 

aching head, 
As soft to our fevered childish cheek, as the 

pillow on mother's bed. 
Sitting so safely at her feet, when the dewy- 
dusk drew nigh, 
We watched for the angels to light the lamps 

in the solemn evening sky. 
Tiny hands folded, there we knelt, to lisp the 

nightly prayer, 
Learning to cast on the Loving One early 

our load of care. 
Whatever the world has brought us since, 

yet, pure as a rose in bloom. 
Is the thought we keep of the core of the 

home, the mother's darling room. 

We think of it oft in the glare and heat of 

our lifetime's later day, 
Around our steps when the wild spray beats, 

and the mirk is gathering gray. 
As once to the altar's foot they ran whom 

the menacing foe pursued. 
We turn to the still and sacred place where 

a foe may never intrude, 
And there, in the hush of remembered hours, 

our failing souls grow strong. 
And gird themselves anew for the fray, the 

battle of right and wrong, 
86 



Behind us ever the hallowed thought, as pure 

as a rose in bloom, 
Of the happiest place in all the earth, the 

mother's darling room. 

We've not forgotten the fragrant sheaves of 
the lilacs at the door, 

Nor the ladder of sunbeams lying prone on 
the shining morning floor. 

We've not forgotten the robin's tap at the 
ever friendly pane. 

Nor the lilt of the little brook outside, troll- 
ing its gay refrain. 

How it haunts us yet, in the tender hour of 
the sunset's fading blush, 

The vesper-song, so silvery clear, of the hid- 
den hermit-thrush ! 

All sweetest of sound and scent is blent, 
when, pure as a rose In bloom, 

We think of the spot loved best in life, the 
mother's darling room. 

Holding us close to our best in life, keeping 

us back from sin, 
Folding us yet to her faithfijl breast, oft as 

a prize we win, 
The mother who left us here alone to battle 

with care and strife 
Is the guardian angel who leads us on to 

the fruit of the tree of life. 
87 



Her smile from the heights we hope to gain 

is an ever-beckoning lure ; 
We catch her look when our pulses faint, 

nerving us to endure. 
Others may dwell where once she dwelt, and 

the home be ours no more, 
But the thought of her is a sacred spell, 

never its magic o'er. 
We're truer and stronger and braver yet, 

that, pure as a rose in bloom. 
Back of all struggle, a heart of peace, is the 

mother's darlingr room. 



THE CHILD AT THE GATE 

'TwAS a little faint tap at the golden gate 
And St. Peter came with the key, 

For never in heaven is soon or late 
Whoever may knocking be. 

And all in a rift of the morning star 

A small child waited there, 
On tiptoe touching the jewelled bar 

With the dew-drops caught in her hair. 

A mither-bairn who had never known 

Aught save the tenderest care ; 
She had fared to the heavenly land alone, 

As the souls of all must fare. 

The good Saint opened wide the door, 
" Come in, there is naught to fear, 

You have done with trouble forever more 
Oh ! little one, safe and here. 

" Now enter in where the children play. 
And the dear Lord smiles to see 
89 



Their guileless mirth as He did in the day 
When He walked in Galilee." 

A soft wind stirred in the lily beds, 
The children paused in their play. 

And bent the ranks of their flaxen heads, 
As children in church who pray. 

Then One drew near with the brooding eyes 
That are homes of love unpriced ; 

And the little soul looked up, trustful, wise. 
Into the Face of Christ. 

Across the meadows she went with Him, 
And He held her fast by the hand ^ 

And He gave her drink from the cups that 
brim 
With the sweet of the deathless hand. 

Oh ! if the mother who waked and wept, 

By a cradle's empty space. 
Had dreamed how Love had her treasure kept 

In the dear Lord's dwelling-place, 

She would never have mourned so bitterly, 

Nor found it so hard to wait. 
Till the good St. Peter should turn the key 

For her, in the golden gate. 



OUR BROKEN DAYS 

Shall we have days unbroken, 

Nay, more, an endless day. 
Where ne'er a harsh word spoken 

Shall cloud our onward way, 
Where never hope shall perish, 

Nor ever grief shall moan, 
Where all our fond hearts cherish 

Shall aye abide our own ? 

Oh ! peace for which in yearning 

Our wearied spirits wait, 
Oh ! love whose fullest learning 

No dear desire shall sate, 
Nor eye nor ear hath measured 

The glory and the praise. 
Which God for us hath treasured 

Beyond these broken days. 

Chill days when pulses languish, 
And mists of life hang low. 

Dark days whose load of anguish 
Rolls on with sluggish flow, 
91 



And busy days whose weaving 
Stretches from sun to sun. 

And days of dull believing, 
Whose tedious course is run. 

The days of haste and worry 

When interruptions throng, 
The days of waste and flurry 

That leave no heart for song, 
The days of earthly leaven. 

And dimming worldly dross. 
The empty days bereaven. 

In shadow of the cross. 

Yes, these shall all be over, 

And garments bright wdth praise 
Their memory shall cover 

Beyond our broken days. 
Such petty trifles pain us, 

Here in this fevered life. 
Such dragging fetters chain us. 

Our hands with care so rife. 

We scarce discern how holy 
And sweet the time might be 

If spent in converse lowly, 
O gracious King, with Thee. 

We lose the tender gladness 
It might be ours to win, 
92 



And trail our robes in sadness, ^ 

And stain their folds with sin. : 

Bless God, there's no temptation | 

To snare the hearts at home, ] 

To heaven's pure isolation < 

No strife or ill shall come. i 

The Lord who loved and bought us i 

Lays up a feast of praise, j 

Until He safe have brought us '] 

Beyond our broken days. [ 



THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS 

A THOUSAND leagues of land and sea 
Divide, to-day, my friend and me. 

I cannot clasp her tender hand. 
Or in her gracious presence stand ; 

No word of mine may reach her ear, 
And yet I hold her close and dear. 

In loyal thought my love is sent, 
O'er mountain chain and continent ; 

In vain extends the widest sea 
To separate my friend and me, 

Since heart to heart, o'er time and space, 
Her truth is still my dwelling-place. 



Where gates of chrysoprase and pearl 
Their gleaming leaves of light unfurl, 
94 



Where evermore the glory falls 
On golden floor and jewelled walls, 

Where Christ Himself the ransomed praise 
Through long, unclouded, sinless days — 

There, safe beyond these changeful tides. 
Dear as my life, a friend abides. 

Not mine to touch His garment's hem. 
Not mine, as yet, the floods to stem, 

And on the hills forever fair 
Breathe gladly love's divinest air. 

But death and distance cannot part 
My friend and me ; for heart to heart, 

The one in heaven, the one on earth, 
We share the new and royal birth. 

Gone on a little while before, 

My friend hath pain and pang no more. 

And I, who wait till even-song 
Shall waft my latest prayer along, 

And carry up my praiseful breath 
By some angelic wing of death, 
95 



Know well, full well, that, heart to heart, 
We, parted here, but seem to part. 

For since the Lord of life is King, 

His pilgrims homeward pledged to bring. 

Not powers beneath, nor hosts above, 
Can break the triple bands of love. 

There menaces, on land or sea, 
No peril to my friend and me. 

There is no fear, let come what will, 
But I shall keep my friend, who still, 

Invisible to mortal sense, 

Abides, in God's good Providence, 

The hour when we again shall meet. 
Nay, often, at the Mercy Seat, 

A hand, once pierced, unites us both ; 
Beyond the reach of rust and moth 

Our precious things for us are stored, 
When one is present with the Lord, 

And one anear the hither sea 
Is — with the Lord — content to be, 
96 



MY ALABASTER BOX 

It was not at meat in the Pharisee's house 
That I sought the Lord to-day, 

Nor yet in my closet, hushed and fair, 
When I lowly knelt to pray, 

But I carried my box of ointment sweet 

In the face of the throngs that I chanced to 
meet. 

" It is jewelled and precious," I proudly cried, 
" And it cost me gems and gold. 

And see, I shall pour it freely out 
That my neighbors may behold. 

And then I will meekly go my way. 

' She has broken her box,' " will the gazers 
say. 

So up and down through the busy street, 

Seeking my Lord, I went. 
My head held high and my soul on fire 

With the glow of its good intent. 
And presently hard where two roads met 
Stood One whom my soul cannot forget. 
G 97 



Down in the dust at His beautiful feet, 
With my trailing draperies white, 

I cast myself with the odors sweet — 

Were there angels to watch the sight ? — 

"Lo ! I for Thy pleasing have brought my best; 

Take it, sweet Saviour, and give me rest 1" 

He stayed me then with a kingly word ; 

"Not so, my child!" said He. 
*' Hast thou never a thought of the hidden 
name 
In the hands that were pierced for Thee ? 
Would'st thou wound the heart that broke 

to save 
Thy life from the power that holds the slave ? 

" Bring hither thy pride and thy discontent 
And thy cherished and vain self-will ; 

Empty thy soul of its low desires 
That My love that soul may lill. 

It is not thy jewelled box I crave j 

I am seeking the soul that I died to save. 

" And never a gift of precious worth 

Canst thou bestow upon me 
While thou shuttest thy poorest brother out 

From thy quickened sympathy, 
And never in crowds and sordid show 
Can I my best upon thee bestow." 



The vision faded j the throng whirled by ; 

I stood in the path alone. 
Then I went to seek for the lost, the weak, 

Since my blessed Lord was gone. 
Wherever they need me the box I break, 
To-day, to-day, for my Lord's dear sake. 



ONLY IN THEE 

Fain would I be strong with the heart of 

the brave, 
All fearless in conflict, all calm In defeat ! 
Fain would I be patient, Lord, patience I 

crave. 
In pain to be silent, submissive and sweet. 
Oh, where shall I find it, the strength I would 

win. 
As pilgrim I journey through peril and sin ? 
My Master, my Saviour, my help is in Thee, 
In Thee is my help. Lord, 'tis only in Thee. 

Fain would I be gentle, whatever betide. 

And meek, unresisting, returning no word 
In haste or in anger to those at my side 
Who may grieve or annoy me. Thy gen- 
tleness, Lord, 
Bestow on thy child, that her looks may be 

fair. 
And mildness distil from her speech, and 
her care 



Be laid at Thy feet ; for whatever it be 

In Thee is my help, Lord, and only in Thee. 

Fain would I be faithful, so daily to prove 
To those whom I meet that my life has a 
spring 
Abundant in beauty and precious in love, 
And that close to the Vine in my earth- 
life I cling. 
Fain would I be faithful, nor follow afar, 
Fain would I abide where Thy chosen ones 

are ; 
My Master, my Saviour, be gracious to me, 
In Thee is my help, Lord, and only in Thee. 

Fain would I be cheerful, and sing as I go, 
Uplifting Thy praises through darkness and 

dawn j 
Fain wear a white robe, not the garment of 

woe. 
And joyously, blithely, and gayly go on. 
Oh, bid me to triumph and smile through my 

tears, 
Oh, crown me a victor o'er trials and fears. 
My Master, my Master, my joy is in Thee, 
In Thee is my help, Lord, and only in Thee. 



GOING HOME 

Out of the chill and the shadow 

Into the thrill and the shine j 
Out of the dearth and the famine 

Into the fulness divine. 
Up from the strife and the battle 

(Oft with the shameful defeat), 
Up to the palm and the laurel, 

Oh, but the rest will be sweet ! 

Leaving the cloud and the tempest. 

Reaching the balm and the cheer, 
Finding the end of our sorrow, 

Finding the end of our fear. 
Seeing the face of the Master 

Yearned for in " distance and dream,' 
Oh, for that rapture of gladness 1 

Oh, for that vision supreme ! 

Meeting the dear ones departed. 

Knowing them, clasping their hands, 

I02 



All the beloved and true-hearted, 
There in the fairest of lands ! 

Sin evermore left behind us, 
Pain nevermore to distress ; 

Changing the moan for the music, 
Living the Saviour to bless. 

Why should we fear at the dying 

That is but springing to life, 
Why should we shrink from the struggle, 

Pale at the swift closing strife, 
Since it is only beyond us. 

Scarcely a step, and a breath. 
All that dear home of the living, 

Guarded by what we call death ! 

There we shall learn the sweet meanings 

Hidden to-day from our eyes. 
There we shall waken like children 

Joyous at gift and surprise. 
Come, then, dear Lord, in the gloaming, 

Or when the dawning is gray ! 
Take us to dwell in Thy presence — 

Only Thyself lead the way. 

Out of the chill and the shadow 

Into the thrill and the shine ; 
Out of the dearth and the famine 

Into the fulness divine. 
103 



Out of the sigH and the silence 
Into the deep-swelling song 5 . 

Out of the exile and bondage 
Into the home-gathered throng. 



Ill 

THANKSGIVING 



IN THE OLD HOME 

Like the patient moss to the rifted hill, 

The wee brown house is dinging, 
A last year's nest that is lone and still, 

Though it erst was filled with singing. 
Then fleet were the children's pattering feet, 

And their trilling childish laughter, 
And merry voices, were sweet, oh, sweet, 

Ringing from floor to rafter. 

The beautiful darlings one by one. 

From the nest's safe shelter flying, 
Went forth in sheen of the morning sun, 

Their fluttering pinions trying. 
But oft as the reaping-time is o'er. 

And the hoar frost crisps the stubble. 
They haste to the little home once more 

From the great world's toil and trouble. 

And the mother herself is at the pane, 
With a hand the dim eyes shading. 

And the flush of girlhood tints again 
The cheek that is thin and fading. 
107 



For the boys and girls are coming home, 
Their mother's kiss their guerdon, 

As they came ere yet they had learned to 
roam 
Or bowed to the task and burden. 

Over the door's worn sill they troop, 

The skies of youth above them, 
The blessing of God on the happy group, 

Who have mother left to love them. 
They well may smile in the face of care, 

To whom such grace is given j 
A mother's faith and a mother's prayer 

Holding them close to Heaven. 

For her, as she clasps her bearded son, 

With a heart that's brimming over, 
She's tenderly blending two in one, 

Her boy and her boyish lover. 
And half of her soul is reft away — 

So twine the dead and the living. 
In the little home wherein to-day 

Her children keep Thanksgiving. 

There are tiny hands that pull her gown, 
And small heads bright and golden } 

The childish laugh and the childish frown, 
And the dimpled fingers folden, 

loS 



That bring again to the mother breast, i 

The spell of the sunny weather, \ 

When she hushed her brood in the crowded < 

nest i 

And all were glad together, ] 

J 

A truce to the jarring notes of life, '] 

The cries of pain and passion. i 

Over this lull in the eager strife, | 

Love hovers, Eden fashion. '. 

In the wee brown house were lessons taught I 

Of strong and sturdy living, I 

And ever where honest hands have wrought, , 

God hears the true Thanksgiving. | 



THANKSGIVING ALWAYS j 

\ 

When barn and byre are safe, ] 

When flocks are in the fold, | 

When far and near the burdened fields « 

Have bowed 'neath harvest's gold, , 

When clusters rich have drooped 1 

From many a blushing vine, i 

And genial orchards, wide and fair, J 

Have owned the touch divine, ^ 

Then, up from grateful hearts :\ 

Let joyful praise arise -j 

To Him who gives the waiting earth 1 

The blessing of the skies. 

When round the mother's knee 

The little children cling, ^ 

When night and morn the household eaves i 

With merry voices ring, .■■ 

When not a sunny head ■ 

Is missing from the throng, ; 

When not a silver note is dropped , 

From out the daily song, < 

no ■ 



Then, up from thankful hearts 

Let fervent praise arise 
To Him who fills the happy home 

With blessing from the skies. 

» 

When round the white-haired man, 

Serene in stately age, 
The children's children troop to crown 

His lengthened pilgrimage. 
When through translucent air 

The gentle matron sees 
How love and peace have followed her 

While striving God to please, 
Then, up from reverent hearts 

Let psalms of praise arise 
To Him who keeps His promises 

In blessing from the skies. 

When blight is on the field. 

When storms are o'er the hills. 
When leap, in wildest fury tossed, 

The late rejoicing rills, 
When wealth is on the wane. 

And battle finds defeat, 
When bitterness o'erbrims the cup 

That erst was foaming sweet. 
Ah ! then ? Yea, then, let thanks 

From all believers rise 



To Him whose chariot is the clouds, 
Who reigns above the skies. 

When rosebud hps are pale, 

And household mirth is hushed, 
When o'er a tiny cofRn lid . 

The bliss of life is crushed. 
When breaks the staff of strength 

And snaps the beauteous rod. 
Or worse — when dear ones go astray 

And leave their father's God, 
^•Even so. Thy will be done," 

The Christian's heart shall say. 
And find that will a central sun 

To light the darkest day. 

Come pleasure's tide at flood. 

Come loss and grief and pain, 
Come death and parting — God is good, 

So lift we up the strain 
Of thanks to Him who keeps 

His o\vn in storm and calm. 
And who with dearth, or wound, or cross, 

Aye sends a healing balm. 
All days should therefore be 

Thanksgivings to the Wise, 
The True, the Kind, the Sovereign hand, 

That rules us from the skies. 



MOTHER'S THANKSGIVING 

Such a quaint little Mother, In a gown of 

silver gray, 
Her snowy hair smooth-parted, in the dear 

old-fashioned way, 
And on her head a lint-white cap, of softest, 

filmiest lace. 
That made a picture-frame about her sweet 

and placid face. 

Such a brave little Mother ! So many a 

year had fled 
Since her husband, leal and loving, had been 

numbered with the dead. 
So many, many summers had she borne a 

lonely heart 
That her fair age and his bright youth were 

half a life apart. 

Such a gentle little Mother ! Ah ! the boys 

remember now, 
Sorrowfully, every shadow on that tender, 

tranquil brow. 
H 113 



They remember how she taught them, how 
she kissed them each at night, 

And they felt no need of angels keeping 
watch till morning light. 



Such a trustful little Mother ! There were 
dark days now and then, 

Though the dear lads never dreamed it until 
they were bearded men j 

She would go away alone, kneeling in her 
chamber dim. 

And would tell the Lord her troubles, cast- 
ing all her care on Him. 



Such a happy little Mother! With a laugh 

like bells a-chime. 
Ever swift to see the bright side, ready with 

a quip and rhyme. 
Oh, so quick with love's own pity! oh, so 

earnest 'neath the jest I 
Ever lavishing her kindness, giving ever of 

her best. 



Such a winsome little Mother I Why, the 

village children came 
Trooping merrily about her j she knew every 

one by name j 

114 



Baby faces smiled to greet hers, by some 

subtle impulse stirred, 
As if fledglings knew the brooding of the 

tender mother-bird. 

Such a true little Mother! Never dallying 
with wrong ; 

Honest to the very soul's core j bearing bur- 
dens late and long j 

Paying every debt with interest ; filling every 
day with work, 

With a deep disdain for any who the day's 
demand would shirk. 

Such a blessed little Mother! Through their 
tears her sons to-day 

Thank the God she served and honored that 
she sleeping passed away ; 

Lifted to the home in heaven, to the com- 
rade gone before. 

Just as earth's Thanksgiving greetings floated 
through the open door 



COMMON MERCIES 

Dear Lord, are we ever so thankful, 

As thankful as we should be to Thee, 
For Thine angels sent down to defend us 

From dangers our eyes never see j 
From perils that lurk unsuspected, 

The powers of earth and of air, 
The while we are heaven-protected 

And guarded from evil and snare ? 

Are we grateful, as grateful we should be, 

For commonplace days of delight, 
When safe we fare forth to our labor, 

And safe we fare homeward at night ; 
For the weeks in which nothing has hap- 
pened 
Save commonplace toiling and play. 
When we've worked at the tasks of the 
household. 
And peace hushed the house day by day? 
ii6 



Dear Lord, that the terror at midnight, 

The weird of the wind and the flame, 
Hath passed by our dwelling, we praise Thee, 

And lift up our hearts in Thy name j 
That the circle of darlings unbroken 

Yet gathers in bliss round the board, 
That commonplace love is our portion, 

We give Thee our praises, dear Lord ! 

Forgive us who live by Thy bounty, 

That often our lives are so bare 
Of the garlands of praise that should render 

All votive and fragrant each prayer. 
Dear Lord, in the sharpness of trouble 

We cry from the depths to the throne ! 
In the long days of gladness and beauty, 

Take Thou the glad hearts as Thine own. 

Oh, common are sunshine and flowers, 

And common are raindrop and dew, 
And the gay little footsteps of children. 

And common the love that holds true. 
So, Lord, for our commonplace mercies, 

That straight from Thy hand are bestowed, 
We are fain to uplift our thanksgivings — 

Take, Lord, the long debt we have owed. 



IV 
CHRISTMAS SONGS 



HER GIFTS 

A DEAR little mother is waiting apart — 

The mother of children three. 
"My Lord," she cries, in the hush of her heart, 

" Wilt Thou take a gift from me ? 
I have heard the angels sing Thy birth, 

I have followed Thy shining star, 
And here at the shrine of all the earth, 

Lo ! I and my children are. 

" And all in the glow of the Christmas morn, 

My gold to lay at Thy feet, 
I am leading my darlings with care unworn, 

With brows that are pure and sweet. 
Oh, never had gems from the mines such worth 

As the treasure to-day I bring 
To the beautiful shrine of all the earth. 

To the glorious Infant King. 

" My children three, with their waving hair 
And the fearless look in their eyes, 

They lisp thy name in the vesper prayer, 
And at matins when they rise, 

121 



Nothing they know of the dole and dearth i 

Of souls that with sin have striven ; i 

They kneel at the shrine of all the earth — j 

' Of such is the kingdom of heaven.' " ^ 

They stand in the shadow of pine and fir ; ■ 

They listen, and, floating through, j 

They catch the answer that's sent to her j 

Through a rift in the upper blue : ; 

" Since the Christ-child came to the weary j 

earth i 

No gifts are to Him so sweet ; 
As the children's hearts, with their joy and 

mirth, -j 

Lovingly brought to His feet. J 



EMBERS 

Still the embers glow, 
Though the fire is faint and low, 
Though the frost is on the pane, 
And the year is on the wane. 

Still the embers glow. 

In the pine wood deep, 
Where the shadows lie asleep. 
Where the storm complains at night, 
And the winter drifts are white, 

In the pine wood deep, 

Stands the Christmas-tree, 
Waiting for the children's glee ; 
Waiting for the mother's hand. 
And the joyous household band, 

Stands the Christmas-tree, 

In the shops so bright. 
Stuffs with rainbow hues of light, 
Costly, carven, rich, and rare, 
Curious gifts beyond compare, 
123 



Bloom untouched by blight, 
Catch the eye and lure the heart. 
Weaving spells with mystic art, 

In the shops so bright. 

Life is glad and gay, 
Set to dancing-time of holiday, 
Home and hearth o'erflow with cheer, 
Love enfolds its near and dear, 

Life is glad and gay. 

Yes, the embers glow ! 
Though the fire is faint and low, 
Though the frost is on the pane, 
And the year is on the wane. 

Yet the embers glow. 



WREATHED WITH HOLLY 

Wreathed with holly, leaf and stem 
Twined to form her diadem, 
Berries which the red sun kissed 
In her dark hair's floating mist ,• 
Prickly points entangled there 
As if stars were caught in snare ; 
Princess of the revels she. 
Love to her would bend the knee. 

Love would fain aspire to flush 
That fair cheek with sudden blush, 
But the snow is not so cold 
As the bud ere it enfold, 
And the girl's heart lieth pure, 
Heeding not the siren's lure. 
Holly berries crown her now. 
Virginal in soul and brow. 

Wreathed with holly ? Ah ! we fear 
There is shadow^ presage here. 
125 



Never she ot woman born 

But must wear the crown of thorn. 

Never she whose horoscope 

Bore not dread amid its hope. 

Who save Egypt's olden Sphynx 

Can interpret what she thinks, 

Maid with downcast eyes who broods, 

In a world of solitudes, 

Silent as the forest shrine 

Where great Pan is throned divine? 



THE ANNUNCIATION 

With grave eyes rapt in dreams of prayer, 
She sits alone within the room, 

Unheeding if around her there 

Be golden ray or deepening gloom. 

Her heart uplifted, silent, sweet, 

Her thought goes forth her Lord to greet. 

And thus attent before the King, 
No sense of strangeness startles her 

When one from Heaven draws near to bring 
A sign to Heaven's worshipper. 

" Hail, Mary !" fills her soul with bliss, 

Her tranquil years have waited this. 

Behold a lily in his hand, 

A lily by the angels sown. 
With fragrance from the deathless land ; 

This lily, in God's garden grown. 
Salutes her purity, as white 
As robes the saints wear in God's sight. 
127 



Oh, sacred grace of motherhood ! 

Divinest thing beneath the sky, 
Which yet the heavens overbrood, 

The watching angels hovering nigh. 
Unending rite of sacrifice, 
Costly beyond earth's utmost price. 

" Hail, Mary !" thrills each mother soul ; 

Ere yet the life beat faint and sweet. 
That shall not cease while ages roll, 

Each mother hears the glad repeat, 
And thenceforth, hallowed, dwells apart, 
Heaven's matchless lily in her heart. 



THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM 

What became of the Star, the Bethlehem 
Star, 
That was followed by kings and sages 
As they journeyed o'er desert and mountain 
far, 
To find the Pearl of the Ages ? 

Did the angels quench its torch of fire 
In the first sweet Christmas dawn, 

When they sang to the world of the world's 
desire. 
Ere the night from the hills had gone ? 

Did it suddenly vanish into space, 
Blown out, when its golden ray 

Had bathed in glory the lonely place 
Where the Child and mother lay? 

And since I wonder, but cannot telJ, 
Some day to come I shall know ; 
I 129 



It may guide the steps of the wise who dwell 
Where the heavenly mansions glow, 

When they shut their eyes on the lamps of 
earth, 

And with silent feet unshod. 
Go forth to look for the feather's hearth 

In the beautiful City of God. 

It well may be the Bethlehem Star 

Shines out across their way, 
Leading them safe, or near, or far, 

To the Prince of the deathless day. 

Oh ! Star that over the manger stood 
The night when Christ was born, 

When the Only Potent, the Only Good, 
Came down to this world forlorn. 

Still shine in the heart of mother and child 
Wherever love reigns and sings. 

And the face of a little one undefiled 
Hath that which may conquer kings. 

Oh ! Bethlehem Star, through pain and loss, 

Still over the cradle shine, 
And comfort us if a shadowy cross 

There glimmer in faint outline. 
130 



For we cannot but take the self-same path 
That was trodden by kings and sages, 

When they dared the base world's utmost 
wrath, 
And sought the Pearl of the Ages. 



WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES 

When Christmas comes. 
The baby girl who scarce can speak, 
The youth with bronzed and bearded cheek, 
The aged bent with weight of years. 
The sorrow-stricken spent with tears. 
The poor, the rich, the grave, the gay. 
Who fare along life's rugged way, 
Are glad of heart when, in the sky, 
The wondrous seraph wings sweep by. 

When Christmas comes. 

When Christmas comes, 
The sailor on the seas afloat. 
The traveller in lands remote, 
The warrior by the camp-lire's light, 
The courtier in the palace bright, 
The student by the midnight lamp. 
The miner deep in dust and damp, 
Alike uplift, through riven skies, 
The wondering look of glad surprise. 

When Christmas comes. 
132 



When Christmas comes, 
In field and street, in mart and farm, 
The world takes on a lovelier charm ,• 
Sweet-scented boughs of pine and fir 
Are brought, like frankincense and myrrh, 
To make our hallowed places meet 
For hands that clasp and tones that greet. 
While hearts, worth more than gold or gem, 
Go forth to find their Bethlehem, 

When Christmas comes. 



CHRISTMAS EVE 

Well, John, we will hang up our stockings — 

There are only you and I 
To keep alive the Yule-log, 

As the lonely years go by. 
Once we had quite a dozen 

To hang in a cheerful row, 
Where the good Saint Nicholas packed his 
gifts 

Snugly from knee to toe. 

There were four for our fathers and mothers. 

Both of us had them then. 
And we drove in a nail for Cousin Ruth, 

And another for Uncle Ben. 
And the dear little children followed. 

And then came yours and mine 5 
I can see that row of stockings, 

Through my gathering tears they shine. 

Oh ! sweet in the dusk of twilight, 
Were our Christmas Eves, dear John ! 
134 



And merry and gay were our Christmas morns 
In the years that I think upon. 

For old and young together 

Were merry and blithe and gay, 

In the whirl of the blessed old-time 
When we kept our Christmas day. 

We two have grown grave and silent, 

Though we have not grown apart. 
You are more to me than the whole wide 
world, 

I more to you, sweetheart ! 
But the children are men and women. 

With their own full lives to live ; 
And they've only a moment now and then, 

To the old home nest to give. 

And a furrowed ridge, in the grave-yard, 

Covers the bit of earth 
Where they sleep, through snow and sun- 
shine, 

The dear ones who gave us birth. 
The world is narrowing in, John, 

It will be our turn to go 
Some Christmas Eve, in the gloaming, 

When the lights are dim and low. 



But we'll not be sorrowful, darling — i 

You mind the dear old tune, | 

135 ! 



That we sang with tripping tongues, love, 
When our sun was at its noon. 

For I think we'll hear the angels, 
As the gates of pearl swing wide, 

And we step ashore in the morning 
On the river's farther side. 

So, John, we will yet keep Christmas, 

And bid the Yule-log glow, 
And crowd our stockings with presents. 

Lovingly, heel and toe. 
Perhaps the dear Saint, passing, 

Will smile a little to see 
How much like merry children 

A happy old pair can be. 



GOD BLESS US ALL 

God bless us all ! With Tiny Tim 
'Tis thus we finish prayer and hymn, 
While cheerily from lip to lip 
The Christmas wishes gayly trip ; 
God bless us all, the circle round, 
Wherever are our dear ones found 5 
At home, abroad, please God, we say, 
God bless His own on Christmas Day ! 

God bless the golden heads arow 
Where ruddy hearth flames leap and glow 
God bless the baby hands that clasp 
Heart fibres in their clinging grasp 5 
God bless the youth with eager gaze ; 
God bless the sage of lengthened days ; 
At home, abroad, please God, we cry, 
God guard His own, 'neath any sky ! 

God ease the weary ones who bear 
A cumbering weight of grief and care 5 
137 



God give the wage no ill can spoil, 
The honest loaf for honest toil 5 
We sound the heartfelt prayer and hymn, 
And breathe " Amen," with Tiny Tim, 
As reverently, please God, we say, 
God bless us all on Christmas Day ! 



V 
EASTER 



AN EASTER SONG 

Sing a song of Easter, 

A song of happy hours, 
Of dashing spray, and shadow play, 

And lovely springing flowers. 
Of birds come home again to build 

Beside the cottage eaves, 
Of waking buds, and rushing floods, 

And dance of rustling leaves. 

Sing a son§ of Easter, 

A song that means a prayer 
Of want and love to One above 

Who keeps His world in care j 
A song for all on this green earth, 

For dear ones passed away, 
Sing clear and strong the joyful song, 

The song of Easter Day. 

Sing a song of Easter, 
A song of pure delight, 
141 



A song that starts in merry hearts, 
And swells from morn till night j 

An Easter song that children lift, 
Without a jarring chord, 

That thrills afar from star to star, 
To praise the children's Lord. 



MARY 

She walked amid the lilies 

Upstanding straight and tall, 
Their silver tapers bright against 

The dusky mountain wall ; 
Gray olives dropped upon her 

Their crystal globes of dew, 
The while the doors of heaven grew wide 

To let the Easter through. 

All heaven was rose and golden, 

The clouds were reft apart, 
Earth's holiest dawn in dazzling white 

Came forth from heaven's own heart ; 
And never, since on Eden 

Creation's glory lay, 
Had ever garden of the Lord 

Beheld so fair a day. 

Her eyes were blurred with weeping^ 
Her trailing steps wcire slow j 
143 



I 

The cross she bore within her 'i 

Transfixed her soul with woe. i 

One only goal before her ^ 
Loomed through her spirit's gloom, 

As in the early morning .' 

She sought the guarded tomb. i 

i 

4 

But down the lilied pathway ] 

A kingly presence came, 

A seamless garment clothed Him, I 

His face was clear as flame, ■ 

And in His hands were nail-prints, i 

And on His brow were scars, { 

But in His eyes a light of love i 

Beyond the light of stars. -i 



For tears she could not see Him, 

As o'er the path He came, 
Till, like remembered music, 

He called her by her name j 
Then swift her soul to answer, 

The Lord of life she knew, 
Her breast unbarred its prison gates 

To let the Easter through. 

Such light of revelation 
As bathed her being then, 

It comes anew wherever Christ 
Is known indeed of men j 
144 



Such glory on the pathway, 

It falls again on all 
Who hear the King in blessing, 

And hasten at His call. 

Rise, King of grace and glory, 

This hallowed Easter-tide, 
Nor from Thy ransomed people 

Let even death divide j 
For yet again doth heaven 

Throw all its gates apart, 
And send the sacred Easter 

Straight from its glowing heart. 



THE END 



